


The Arduous Journey of T'Lana on the Road to Enlightenment, or Vulcan Love Slave (selected fragments)

by yel_halansu



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Cunnilingus, Discipline, Dubious Consent, Erotic Poetry, F/F, F/M, Fictional book, Group Sex, Het, Insults, Lesbian Sex, Loss of Anal Virginity, Masturbation, Metafiction, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scissoring, Sexual Slavery, Shibari, There's a plot in here somewhere, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Mind Melds, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yel_halansu/pseuds/yel_halansu
Summary: A (purported) translation from the original Vulcan of some fragments of the classic erotic epic "The Arduous Journey of T'Lana on the Road to Enlightenment, or Vulcan Love Slave", detailing the escapades of the titular character during her time in Ferenginar and the... "philosophical" contemplations that she wishes to impart of the Vulcan race. (As usual, Vulcan meta and translations included in the notes.)
Relationships: T'Lana/OCs, T'Lana/Shmun
Comments: 30
Kudos: 19





	1. Fragment 1

And then I was led, bound and chained

to the vast dining hall of the Nagal Palace,

after the naked maidens of  Gnakor had readied my body

in the washroom, as they were instructed:

in the thick perfumed vapors of the bathing chamber,

which condensed on the shapes of their heaving breasts

the women rubbed my skin with damp washcloths

and undid the braiding in my hair.

All my body hair was shaved, my skin left glistening and smooth,

and as the clyster seeped into my innards

I pondered what lustful indecencies awaited.

The hands on me were countless; pulling, gripping, holding,

as the maidens left no crevice or orifice unexplored

in their thorough ablutions

and giggled obscenely at the prospect of my fate.

When I was finally presented to the Grand Nagus Gnakor,

sitting on a gilded throne at the dining hall, holding court

as he dined on Kytherian crab and toasted tubeworms,

I refused to kneel before him like it was required of slaves.

I was, back then, set on retaining my dignity –

my emotional control had faltered and I felt anger;

Ket-Cheleb the Destroyer₁ gripped my heart

and cloaked himself in the look I shot at the ruler instead.

The flashing surges of my rage and arrogance were tempered

by the shame of the robe being torn from my frame

at his command, with a flick of the tyrant's hand,

and by the loud cheer that erupted from the mouths

of a hundred Ferengi overcome by passion.

For the Teachings of Surak, greatest of all Vulcans,

state that we are not to harm those that harm us.

Those who in their haughtiness deny the immutability

of their destiny will find themselves humbled-

and humbled I was indeed.

A stool was brought before me-

a tall, triangular metal structure reaching at my hip.

My chains were pulled, and I was bent upon it,

for the strength of the Ferengi is deceiving for their height,

and the guards were too keen to comply with this agreeable task,

disregarding my demands to be freed.

My hands were fastened first, my arms spread

and tied to the front legs of the stool

as the cold tritanium bit my bare skin.

I dreaded what was to come next,

but dread does not affect the outcome of the inevitable:

my legs were spread too, my buttocks parted open;

the entrance to my rectum and genitals

vulnerable and exposed to the jeering audience.

In my position, I could no longer see them,

for my gaze was now fixed on the latinum-plated tiles

on the floor, richly gilded with Terran gold;

but I imagined the ardor twisting their facial features

as they snarled all sorts of proclamations

of how exactly they wished to force themselves upon me.

All these acts, which appeared so lewd to me at the time,

all of these and more I would be subjected to

before I left Ferenginar – but not that day, for at that moment

I was to be chastised, not put to use.

“Fifty licks of the whip!” the Grand Nagus cried.

Immediately the leather fell on my raised buttocks

adorning them with streaks of green.

To stir my apprehension, the guard wielded the whip in unpredictable patterns,

an expert well-versed in this ritual of contrition and correction.

I writhed pitifully, illogically; for the bonds did not give

and it served no purpose but to stir the appetites of my captors.

The whipping did not abate, but rather increased in its cruelty

as the pain cut deep into my helpless thighs.

Agonizing. Demeaning. Scorching.

Intoxicating.

The same rush of my blood to my punished buttocks

that made my skin bloom green like an oasis

increased the sensitivity of my nerve endings

and the fire inside me stirred.

Paradoxically, I began to crave abuse

between my buttocks as well as on them;

and, perturbed like a youth in the throes of the first pon farr,

ground my hips against the freezing cold metal,

seeking its contact with my engorged clitoris

already pushing its way out from the secret folds of my genital sheath.

“By the Blessed Exchequer, look at her already!”

the guard cried as he spanked me relentlessly.

The sting turned to ache, then to burn,

and I twitched involuntarily as the abuse continued.

Moans arose and died in my throat,

my predicament titillating as it was scandalous.

After the fiftieth blow, the guard forced my head up

by pulling from the tip of my left ear.

With Surak's help alone did I suppress a purr.

My eyes, now full of desire, finally met those of the Nagus

in a way he found sufficiently respectful.

“Whose are you, she-slave?” he spat as his staff tapped the floor.

“Yours”, the ardent whisper escaped my lips.

Upon the stool I first glimpsed great truths about my nature.

Within my katra₂ lies the need to be owned.

I wished to yield, submit, and obey;

be nothing but pleasing to he who is my Master.

For submission is sublimation,

and I desired, by offering my tender sex for conquest

willingly, to express my boundless gratitude.

The sting of the whip is a joy, I would come to understand.

When a Vulcan slave is whipped, on the surface it would seem

it is their master's strength and control being exercised,

however, a deeper understanding reveals that

it is, in fact, the slave who is being honored

and provided with the chance to display their mastery and restrain.

A Vulcan slave never laments, never weeps,

and instead views the experience as an exercise

in the ways of ego death₃ and enok-ka-fi₄:

If k'oh-nar₅ triumphs over our primal reactions,

a Vulcan slave, commanding the forces of pain and pleasure,

could attain complete dominion over the self,

a triumph of mind over matter,

a path to total enlightenment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes
> 
> 1-Ket-Cheleb the Destroyer is the personification of anger in Vulcan mythology.
> 
> 2-The essence of a Vulcan's self, a combination of soul and experience.
> 
> 3-”Ego death” has been selected as the closest equivalent in Terran philosophy and mysticism, but the original term refers, of course, to a concept specific to Surakian teachings.
> 
> 4-The Vulcan discipline of pain control by psychic means.
> 
> 5-Vulcan cultural fear to having one's feelings, particularly those that are amorous, exposed to others.


	2. Fragment 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This second fragment takes place some weeks after the first. T'Lana has already started undergoing a training regime to prepare her for her newly found position as a sex slave, but the Grand Nagus Gnakor, completely smitten by her, has been visiting her nightly regardless.

I lounged indolently in the bedchamber for hours

eagerly awaiting the attentions of my Master.

A lustrous crimson rug covered the floor

and soft cushions of velvet and silk were its only furniture.

Not much else was needed, for “bedchamber” is a misnomer,

it was nothing but a den reserved for sexual acts with the slaves.

As a love slave, my attire never protected my modesty,

but instead provoked my captors and incited their desire.

The Ferengi believe that robes on a female are but an invitation to their removal

and for this reason I was allotted more clothing than their women:

a sheer piece of cloth draped around the front of my body,

held in place by thin belts, made of chains of Orion gold.

My nipples nudged the fabric, thus barely protected

from the cold and damp of the weather of Ferenginar;

and my sex, peeking shyly between my exposed buttocks

quivered, bare and wanting of my Master's defilement.

When Gnakor finally entered the bedchamber accompanied by two guards

I kneeled deeply, as I had been taught:

with my forehead and palms pressed against the rug.

“Prepare her for my use” he croaked.

In spite of my training and eagerness, I was still

not considered fully tamed, and thus not trusted

to be left unrestrained and alone with the Grand Nagus.

My soul cried out through the shrouds of Surakian control

that had not yet been stripped from me.

I decided to persevere until I earned that honor.

Fast and meek, I shifted my position

to facilitate the guards' task of binding me;

laying flat on my stomach, I bent my legs and spread them

and proceeded to grab my feet firmly with my hands.

The guards admired my body, thus salaciously displayed,

but did not dare infringe on the property of the Nagus.

Instead, they began their work efficiently, undressing me

then binding my limbs, ankle against wrist.

The ropes of Triaxian silk were forgiving and stimulating.

Once I was thus secured, they wove a harness

with intricate knots across my chest and waist,

a beautiful demonstration of fine craftmanship.

It facilitated handling, and the effect of the knotted rope

was decorative as it was alluring, pressing tight against my skin.

Once their task was complete, the Nagus dismissed the guards

with a grunt of unbridled impatience;

with a bow, they exited the chamber, leaving me alone with my Master.

He grinned at me hungrily, lecherously, a thousand feelings

openly displayed across his alien features.

I closed my eyes and hung my head, unable to express submission

in any other ways in my current posture.

I felt Gnakor's gaze roaming over the curve of my buttocks

as scorching as the Eridani sun over the desert dunes.

I wished to plead, to writhe, to beg until I was ravished,

however I knew my Master preferred quiet submission

and my own wishes were of no consequence to him.

He took pause today, assessing me silently

as I lay shivering and in wait, captive and wanton.

Many times he had already enjoyed the pleasure of my genital sheath,

pushing his engorged member into my trembling flesh

as his testicles slapped against me with vigor,

a background rhythm to obscenities cooed into my ears.

Today, however, he who is my Master, looking down at me,

decided to pry into my mind as well as my body.

“Slave, have you ever been sodomized?”

I suppressed a gasp and shook my head,

for even the thought of such outrageousness is unacceptable in oT'Khasi₁.

Concerns for hygiene and decorum filled my thoughts instantly –

is it not illogical, I pondered, to employ such an orifice for intercourse,

when another one exists purely for this purpose in a Vulcan's anatomy?

But my Master cared not for such reflections – he cared not for logic,

relief for this growing erection was his main concern when in my company.

His hand was then between my legs, sliding up my thigh with giddy anticipation,

my buttocks were forced apart with a rough shove

and a slicked, oiled finger wedged itself, unnanounced,

in the warm cavity of my rectum.

I gasped at the invasion – vedrah prah ₂ prepares us not

for an onslaught of pleasure, and therefore our proud race

finds itself helpless before the sensual pleasures the tfi'kien offer ₃ .

I was mocked with a chuckle as a new worry dawned on me:

a Ferengi's penis is disproportionate in size,

already a struggle to accommodate inside a Vulcan's genitals;

my labia had been perpetually sore since my arrival,

savagely stretched around my Master's member every night.

How was I to perform such an act without injury?

It is common to lose oneself in the challenges of the theoretical

so that one is unprepared when a practical issue arises:

in my case, I had not yet found an answer to my question

when the hand teasing my sphincter was replaced by a greater pressure.

Gnakor had deemed my preparation to be sufficient,

and as such, he was positioning himself to penetrate me.

My body twitched involuntarily- the ropes did not budge:

no chance to escape such an unbecoming predicament.

Kaiidth.

His glans breached the entrance painfully, my muscles tensed then,

gripping the slick head of his penis like a vice,

and he forced himself inside me, his member hard and cruel.

I protested weakly, Gnakor chuckled once again

his pointed teeth bared as he squeezed my tender breast.

Like a savage he sodomized me:

his throbbing girth fully buried between the parted mounds

of my buttocks, he took pause to enjoy my distress

and the knowledge that he was the first to inflict it.

My Master owned me, all of me, and had the right

to employ my every orifice for his gratification

regardless of its true purpose or my desires.

I breathed in deeply – I was privileged to receive such intimate attention,

and in the rough deflowering found indescribable pleasure.

Every thrust of his hips ripped my logic and control,

and I was soon panting due to the demanding rhythm.

I came to understand this delighted my Master greatly,

and was yet again faced with the dilemma

that would haunt my thoughts throughout my stay in Ferenginar:

Do I cling to my training in the Teachings of great Surak,

or do I please and worship Gnakor? A false dichotomy,

I realized, for the most logical choice is obviously

to comply with the demands of one's captors,

particularly when said demands are most pleasant.

And thus one adheres to the precepts of selflessness,

and refuses dreaded conflict – following in the footsteps

of the Greatest of All who Ever Lived ₄ indeed.

Thus, by giving in, I was resisiting,

and by embracing voluptuousness, [I was] exercising endurance.

My panting turned to moans, and moans to screams.

Restrain, control, dignity – all faded and dissolved

There was nothing but my Master and my violated passage.

“Scream! Scream away, you pitiful creature,

let that Surak you so adore cast his eyes upon you now from the beyond!”

His hand descended on my buttocks, and the blow

– so beyond was I from basic kai'tan₅!–

caused my rectum to contract even tighter around my Master's member

much to my dismay and his delectation.

Down came a second blow, and a third, even a fourth

before he pressed my cheeks together as he continued thrusting ruthlessly

violating my innards with this unrelenting sodomy.

I quickly formulated a scheme to ease my torment

and put my training in the amatory arts to use simultaneously:

“Master!” I cried out, my facial expression betraying my urgency, “I beg of you,

allow me the honor to perform oo-mox₆ on your lobes!”

“Dirty Vulcan!” he sneered, “you still need more training

on such a delicate skill,

for now, this is all you are good for!” he punctuated the insult

with a particularly vigorous thrust – for this purpose,

he grabbed the rope harness fitted on my body, and,

using it as purchase, continued the enculade in this fashion:

drawing no coherent speech, but only agonized howls from my mouth.

And, thus reduced to a breeding animal – a Vulcan may only then glimpse

the primordial state of our psychology, bared of all logic; a necessary understanding,

for one cannot master what one does not know – 

my cries and whimpers melted into the rainy night air

as he claimed me over and over, and yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-Formal native name for the planet Vulcan, preserved in the translation for its connotation of respect.  
> 2-Surakian command to accept pain and discomfort without reacting to it.  
> 3-Tfi'kien, or non-Vulcan humanoid aliens such as the Ferengi, are seldomly referred to as attractive or pleasant in Vulcan literature.  
> 4-A common epithet for Surak.  
> 5-Vulcan discipline concerning the temporary suppression of pain through muscle control.  
> 6-A masturbatory Ferengi act consisting of massaging their ears.


	3. Fragment 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (T'Lana has taken a liking to Shmun, another Vulcan slave who performs domestic chores at the Nagal Residence. One day, she manages to escape the confinement of her quarters and finds him in the courtyard. Feeling bashful after a tender conversation, he attempts to leave, and this is where our third fragment begins.)

“Shmun”, I called as I placed my hand, arm extended,

on the latinum column before him to block his path,

intending to keep him from the tasks that occupied him.

The palace courtyard was deserted, and, sheltered from the rain in the colonnade,

we were invisible to any prying eyes that could spy on us from the windows.

“I must return, lady T'Lana, or the foreman will miss me for the banquet preparations

surely punishment will befall me should that be the case”.

I did not move my arm, but placed my other hand

on the fine curve of his jaw, and tilted his head to me:

for it is the custom in Vulcan that the female pursues the male,

and I have never known a Vulcan woman to be so harsh a mistress

to her beloved as the Ferengi are to their own women; because of this,

most Vulcan men crave such attentions, and respond favorably when thus flattered.

“My sweet Shmun” I repeated, “before you go, I must inform you

I believe I am developing feelings of affection for you”.

“You are mistaken, T'Lana, you must be” was his timid reply,

“it is but the effect of your captivity influencing your logic.

Any affection between us would be left unfulfilled, for we are but slaves of the Nagus,

and such liaisons are strictly forbidden.

Therefore, not suppressing these feelings would cause us both but heartache,

and, in being hurtful, it is illogical”.

“My beloved”, I whispered, “if one is to follow your course of reasoning,

it becomes apparent that, were we to surrender to the affection

that draws us together, and bypass the Nagus' cruel prohibitions,

the call of our bond would be fulfilled – then pursuing this is logical”.

I stretched my hand out in a ta'al₁, and in hesitation he took it,

our fingers pressing delectably in the embrace of our people.

“T'Lana,” he whispered ardently when my arm encircled his hip,

pressing him against me as our fingers interlaced in an increasingly sensual fashion,

“not here, we could be seen” he pleaded, making no effort

to untangle himself from me.

“My Shmun – do you really wish me to let you go?”

A quiet negative was his reply, and I continued to tease him

in the ways I was so well-versed in by now: making sure

to flick his ear, I placed my hand on his temple to glean₂ his thoughts

as my other hand reached insolently to lift up his robes.

We were quiet then, words were unnecessary

in the shining understanding of our fusion; I knew what he desired

– oh, were the Ferengi I was to service only that transparent! – 

and what he desired, I was eager to provide.

His legs were bare beneath his robes, I shifted to protect his modesty.

Were we to be spotted, all that would be visible

were two Vulcans but huddling in the cold, without a trace

of untoward behavior taking place in the open courtyard.

My fingers quickly reached his most intimate region,

as wet and slick as the tiles beneath the rain.

Unlike a Ferengi's member, a Vulcan's is secret,

safe from the harsh desert that scourges our world;

it rests in a sheath like a Klabnian eel in its cave

except when aroused and turgid from the fire of pon farr.

“K'diwa₃” I sighed as I entered him, trapping him

between the cold metal of the column and the warmth I radiated,

my breasts, on display through the wet white silk

of my dress, pressed voluptuously against his chest.

His mind was a blur of adoration, enthralled as he was

by the profound understanding of my thoughts;

ignored by our masters, neglected and unravished,

he had contented himself with rereading the Analects₄

and had thus, for years, been deprived of great new realizations

and of unexplored, invigorating intellectual pursuits.

For wide experience increases wisdom, provided it is not sought

purely for the stimulation of sensation₅; and, stimulated as I had been,

I had gained great insight during my captivity and subjugation.

Skill I had gained also, and I sought to employ it

in arousing bliss like my beloved had never known:

I stroked his passage tenaciously with probing fingers

and traced the shell of his ear with my unchaste tongue.

“T'Lana!” he begged yet again as our bond pulsated,

and my free hand pinned his against the column.

Thus embracing, my fingers pressed into soft skin; and then,

betraying my sentiments, I rubbed loving circles with my thumb into his palm.

My lover neared ecstasy, he quivered in his readiness,

fingers slid deeper into willing flesh,

I located the nub of his penis within, and tickled it.

His breath quickened by the second, and inside him – 

oh, what soft, inviting joy he concealed!

His sheath was weeping, its lubrication so abundant

it trickled down my hand like sweet d'lechu₆ sap.

I rubbed the small bump within more firmly; once, twice, thrice over,

his mind was, in its elation, overwhelming,

and its brightness inundated our mind-link;

a supernova rupturing across the stillness of space.

In the reality of the physical, he orgasmed against me

with nothing but a spasm of his privates and a quiet grunt.

My beloved! He is logical until the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-The Vulcan salute.  
> 2-The use of a specific verb with a similar meaning in Vulcan implies that this is a “soft” mind-meld being performed, T'Lana is here only skimming Shmun's sensations and not entangling herself entirely with his mind.  
> 3-A term of endearment dating back to pre-Surakian times, for this reason it is considered rather scandalous as it carries primal and emotional implications.  
> 4-The Analects of Surak, one of the main books on his teachings.  
> 5-A quote attributed to Surak.  
> 6-D'lechu is a type of succulent native to Vulcan, its sap contains hallucinogenic properties and for this reason it's used in child betrothal rituals. T'Lana appears to be metaphorically expressing that she finds Shmun intoxicating and covertly alluding to her desire to marry him.


	4. Fragment 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A few months have passed since our previous fragment. T'Lana is on the cusp of completing her training as a love slave, and she has grown very attached to Shmun. After discovering their secret affair, the Grand Nagus flies into a rage and decides to punish her.)

“Shameless whore! How dare you disobey me!” the Grand Nagus bellowed,

pulling from my ear harshly; incensed, nails digging into the delicate shell,

he dragged me behind him as I stumbled and begged.

Uncaring, he strode with conviction through the palace corridors,

lugging me along this maze to some secret place I did not know.

“But Master” I pleaded, attracting the attention 

of dozens of eyes from halls and chambers– the inevitability

of my punishment, along with the enigma of its method,

incited in me more excitement than dread–

“I am amorous with others regularly!” I explained,

appealing to the logical side of he who is my owner.

“Have you not, on countless occasions, bid me I dance alluringly

on your banquet hall before hundreds of guests;

and in doing so, remove my clothing leisurely

with the sole objective of arousing them to passion?

And then sometimes you command, my Master,

that I sit on the lap of visiting dignitaries

who come to beseech you from all corners of Ventarus Idrilon,

knowing well of the wandering tendencies of their hands,

knowing well that when your back is turned, my tunic is lifted,

and said hands find amusement in what lies beneath it:

my thighs, buttocks, the soft breasts that so delight you,

my tender sex is even sometimes not just stroked, but lewdly invaded.

Have you not often sweetened a deal or sealed a trade

by summoning me to the Tower of Commerce,

and, once there, described at length the delectability of my charms,

and promised the merchants a whole night in my chambers?

And have you not always kept those promises?”

“Silence, she-slave!” the Grand Nagus barked, “you are not yours to give away!

You belong to me, I am your Master, and every Ferengi

is worth a thousand times what you are- keep this in mind at all times!

Vulcans are surely not as intelligent as we have been led to believe – 

if that were the case, you would have understood this already!

Besides, what profit is there for you in dallying with your own kind,

bound as you both are, and captive, in this world so far from your own?”

“Shmun brings me comfort, Master” I calmly replied.

“Comfort? Damn you to the Vault of Eternal Destitution!

It is not I, the Grand Nagus, the ruler of all the Ferengi, who

shows you boundless mercy and offers you food and shelter?

I ask for so little in return – is your work not pleasant, slave?

Do I not keep you contented? And yet you claim to want for comfort!

I will have you punished in such a fashion you will truly require it!”

We turned a corner, a door swung open, and we found ourselves in a space

which I deduced to be the palace guard rec room; austere and dim, with a table at its center,

where five Ferengi, clad in uniforms, sat betting and playing cards.

As they turned to us in confusion and alarm, and stood slowly

to bow before their ruler and employer, as it is their custom,

the Nagus pushed me, and I fell despondently on the cold floor before them.

“Guards!” Gnakor addressed them, “see here a female

for your use tonight! So wanton is she, so unbridled in her lust

she will surely pose no objection to any acts you desire!

May you be so harsh you drive the defiance out of her body!”

He stormed out of the room, and the door closed behind him.

The guards did not move – they did not dare.

The Ferengi, though shrewd, are not well-versed in the ways

of logic and of emotional control, and easily become frightened.

Their world is one of treachery, of dishonesty,

where words are loud and plenty and thus carry little value.

They were wise to suspect the situation to be a ruse.

I sighed imperceptibly. As a Vulcan, calm and proud, it was my duty

to quell their distress, as well as prove my Master's honesty.

I raised myself on my knees, my body straight,

and quickly shed the robes that covered my frame.

I then adopted the display position I had been taught in slave training:

knees apart, chest forward, hands raised behind my head;

my whole body, thus, was easily accessible.

As I had predicted, they were pleased by this development,

and were soon hooting in delight as they observed me.

Before, I would shy away from such attentions,

but now, I met them head on, with composure and peace of mind.

For, in the words of the great Surak, there's no offense where none is taken;

there is no violation where there is consent and bliss,

and a punishment is no punishment if one takes pleasure in it.

They advanced and crowded before me,

as their jeering became increasingly explicit and libidinous.

Soon, daring hands pinched my nipples

and my gasps drew laughter drenched in passion and derision.

“Is it true that you are here for us? Are you so beyond

demure female timidness that you crave such immodest things,

so wanton that you will comply in your own brutal defilement?”

A love slave has an immense privilege which many Vulcans can but covet,

for she is certain to utter the last words in every interaction:

“Yes, sir”.

As I had been trained, I responded.

More jeers filled the room as they rubbed themselves over their clothing

and, turning to each other, discussed the order and manner

in which they wished to take their pleasure.

“Yorag, fetch the lubricant we all know you keep in your bag,

it is better spent on this lovely female than on your gruesome masturbation!”

they joked, but the one named Yorag complied.

Soon I was pushed forward on all fours, a stranger's hand rubbing my sheath.

His slick fingers penetrated me, but my gasp was quickly silenced

by another's member forcing itself inside the wetness of my mouth.

I wrapped my lips around it as it throbbed and thrust

so deep against my tongue, it soon brushed against my uvula,

and thus triggered a cough by reflex. It was met with no compassion

from my invader; but with a cackle, and a hand pressing on my throat.

The fingers behind me were soon replaced with a second phallus,

parting my sheath with its colossal size, sweet and satisfying.

Firm hands dug into the tender globes of my buttocks and pushed my whole body

back and forth in a punishing rhythm,

the rough hardness impaled in the delicate folds of my sex.

My mouth was, by then, employed as nothing but masturbatory aid

– were the Ferengi aware that Vulcans need to breathe? –

with one hand at my neck, another at my fringe; and my jaw

stretched beyond comfort, welcoming the intrusion,

thus abused for countless minutes₁ in relentless staccato.

My vaginal channel filled with the fluid of his ejaculate

as the Ferengi behind me grunted and spanked me.

The other withdrew, my mouth free at last – but not yet fully spared.

He grabbed the slick appendage, and shamelessly used it

to slap me across the face as I struggled to catch my breath.

Aroused by my disgraced panting, he orgasmed,

spilling his musky seed across my flustered features.

“Share with us!” the others demanded, “Let her lie down!”

I was led to the table, which, betraying my impatience,

I cleared of the cards and latinum, abandoned there from the chaster game,

with a sweeping movement of my toned arms.

The distress of the Ferengi was evident – I regained their attention only

by cleaning the seed from my face with elegant fingers,

then licking it off them, like a le-matya cleans her claws,

as I reclined onto the surface seductively.

The guards followed; one of them climbed on the table behind me

and, lifting up my leg, forced himself inside my rectum

with little preparation or decorum.

“Don't you fret, gorgeous, very soon the pain will fade

and you will eagerly beg me to increase the speed

and the harshness of my loving will delight you!”

Before I could thank him in the formal fashion

that the Ferengi find most becoming of their slaves,

my face was grabbed and turned, a new penis presented:

a chance to demonstrate my newly-gained skills!

Slowly I lapped at it, tongue darting, flicking it softly,

as its owner seemed to lack the briskness of his predecessor;

he rewarded me with cries of pleasure

once I ceased my teasing, and swallowed to the hilt.

Inside my mouth I lavished my attentions

onto his shaft; my tongue was like an Orion dancer

gyrating languidly onto the bulbous shape of his glans.

The third and fourth guards circled me, contented

to make use of my hands, for now – I relished it immensely.

For a Vulcan's hands are deft and sensitive,

and lend themselves to most intimate sensations.

I stroked, I teased, I pulled; simultaneously I fondled both

with such tenderness and deference, they soon were keening at my touch.

The last guard stepped before me, baring his crotch boldly

to reveal his erection; he would now be the one to claim

the seeping depths of my genitals as his own.

He entered me easily, so wet and lose I was already

from the previous encounter, so raw and tender and responsive

with arousal, that with merely the insertion of its head

I was mewling with glee in his grasp.

In this fashion we copulated, a knot of limbs and cries,

pausing but to switch positions in our lengthy, voluptuous intercourse.

When Gnakor returned, after hours of this dalliance,

he dismissed the guards, and grinned with satisfaction at the sight

of my naked body, kneeling, drenched in their ejaculate,

dripping from me in fine threads like the secretions of an a'lazb₂.

For he thought me humiliated, and thus humbled;

but those reactions are emotional, and long gone from my mind:

for in embracing carnal pleasure, I had found freedom;

and in t'san s'at ₃ , a Vulcan always wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- The original uses the word lirt'k, equivalent to 1.41 Terran minutes. It is quite unusual to encounter such vague descriptions of the time passed in Vulcan texts, and it points to the fact that T'Lana was not, given the situation, paying much attention.  
> 2- A Vulcan animal very similar to a Terran spider, which produces strands of a sticky substance to weave its webs.  
> 3- Vulcan discipline of controlling emotion by deconstructing it intellectually, the implication being that feeling shame is, at this point, illogical for T'Lana.


	5. Fragment 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (After some weeks, T'Lana has managed to regain the Nagus' favour. Her training as a love slave is coming to a close, and the day before the official completion ceremony, she has sex in bondage with the Nagus for the last time).

Thus I hanged, suspended, from the ropes of Terran cotton,

wrapped and knotted so tightly that my supple flesh bulged around the ties.

Upside-down I hanged, my head below my torso, my hair loose

flowing in soft strands towards the cold latinum tiles.

My arms were tied behind my back, bound by the harness

of ornate knots and braids that secured my body in mid-air,

and each leg was so fastened by the ropes, thigh to calf,

that my feet pressed together as my knees were wide apart.

My naked flesh trembled in the cold air of the chamber –

a room were the instruments for slave punishment were kept,

which also served for some of the harder forms of loving that Gnakor was fond of,

as sometimes there was, as I had learned, little difference between the two.

He who is my Master brought before me a tray of metal alloy

and on it lay five different sexual implements; all erect phalluses of inert polymer material

for my usage, each in the likeness

of a different race in our quadrant: Human, Vulcan, Andorian, Tellerite and Klingon.

“Do you recognize them, she-slave?”

I respectfully nodded as Gnakor's hands casually stroked my breasts,

pert and quivering, framed by the ropes that bound me,

his derision and intentions plainly visible on his face.

He first selected the human dildo, compact and stocky,

and rubbed it between the soft folds of my labia,

teasing, taunting me; he decided to retreat instead of inserting it

in my sex, and positioned it at my sphincter instead.

He pushed it inside gently, my rectum relaxed to accept it

in my innards as he mocked me, saying the human phallus was simply too small

to satisfy my appetites vaginally – I agreed politely.

Once inside, my Master bid me I retain it, and, with the force of gravity

working in my favor, I clenched my buttocks tightly,

the ring of my muscles securing it in its place.

The point of discomfort was long past, for I had learned to enjoy

this sort of sudden penetrations through repetition and practice.

The next plaything he selected was the vulcan, blushing green;

double-ridged, proud and turgid – a septennial sight!

My Master chuckled in delight as it entered me, a perfect fit

designed by nature. He pumped the phallus in and out

my pudenda, gentle and smooth, which embraced it softly.

My thoughts turned to my beloved – my Shmun!

How I longed to feel his rigidness inside me, once pon farr burned us both!

Too soon I felt the cruel hand of the Nagus withdrawing it from my body,

and, desperate, I clenched as tight as my muscles would allow me,

but it was for nothing: the object left, and I was empty

as my Master's words echoed:

“Do not get too attached, slave,

to the embrace of another child of Ah'rak ₁

for I might deprive you of ever sensing it again!

Better delights lie in store for you, regardless.”

With these words, he discarded it and continued to the next.

I flinched at the touch of the thaan ₂ – 

frozen like the wretched ₃ moon that is their home.

Even within the warmth of my body, once inserted,

the cold did not abate – thus was the design of the implement,

fashioned out of a temperature-controlled material

to imitate the icy nature of its living counterpart.

I began to shiver, I whined in my discomfort,

but this was amusing to my Master: he began to tease me

by pretending to withdraw it, but then, just as my cries subsided,

he would bury it deeper once again, and the icy burn would return

even fiercer, and more unforgiving than before.

In this fashioned he tortured me repeatedly,

until he fully extracted it from my sheath.

He desired to pass some time so I may regain feeling

in my sex, now numb and flushed, before the next stage of our game;

as he waited he used the phallus, wet with my slick, for other purposes.

He would place it on my nipples, relishing the way I shivered in my bondage,

or against my clitoris, where he knew it would cause

the greatest agony, and listened to the music of my pleas.

The Tellerite was next – a narrow serpentine shape

that curled around itself, like the vortex of a sandstorm.

What it lacked in girth it compensated for in length:

it entered me, and kept on going

further and further inside, beyond anything I had felt before

until it tapped against my cervix – the strange pressure

felt unusual, but not unpleasant.

My Master then flicked a button on the implement

and, like the strike of a k'karee₄, it sprung to life:

within my body it writhed in a circular motion

vibrating gently against the very end of my vaginal channel.

So deep it sank, so vigorously it stirred

that soon I was squirming, nearing the climax of my pleasure.

My body began to quiver against the ropes that bound me,

and, as I approached the rapture of orgasm

my whole body trembled, my genitals spasmed in anticipation;

until, with a sudden pull, he ripped it from my sex

leaving me wanton and on the edge, crying out in frustration.

With cruel laughter he removed the human phallus as well

which had, until now, stayed inside my rectum

during these roguish games, bulging against the different objects

that had been inserted; and he waited until my excitement had remitted

to ensure orgasm would seize me only

at the precise moment he desired.

Finally the frightful Klingon was lined up

against both of my defenseless holes: for the Klingon manhood is double

and the largest one among the tfi'kien races.

The discipline of tu'lan₅ was useless, my muscles

required to be stretched further than simple relaxation enabled.

It pressed against me, pushing fruitlessly,

until finally my flesh surrendered: with a pang of pain it entered brutally,

opening me further than anything I ever had before.

It burned as it advanced inch by inch, painfully slow,

dragging against the walls of my cavity,

so big I was unable to accept it fully

and about a third of each penis sat outside me, wasted.

My Master was merciful, and moved it slowly

for only a couple dozen thrusts – lenient treatment to which I was unaccustomed.

Once it was out, I was left gaping openly,

so obscene and aching,

ready for the final act my Master planned to inflict on me.

With an approving chuckle he lowered his trousers

baring his erection, which had grown to an impressive size

from the sight of my predicament

and the sounds of my sweet moaning; and,

as I had been its cause, I was to bring its resolution,

it was my duty to relieve him of this tension.

He penetrated me quickly, so distended

and accessible I was, and his large and bulbous member

comfortably filled the emptiness as my muscles readjusted around him.

He stood perfectly still, and instead grabbed the ropes

that bound my legs, and using them for purchase

it was my whole body that thrust up and down

in our perverse copulation.

So raw was my sex, so tender in its abused state,

and so vigorous was our coitus

that I was soon gripped by pleasure, and the bliss of my orgasm

finally washed over me like waves.

My Master was not yet done, and thus he continued

bouncing my body incessantly on his member.

“Which one do you prefer, she-slave?” he grunt at me,

“whose was the phallus that brought completion

to your unsightly womanly longings? Say it, I command you!”

“Yours”, I lied between moans. “I crave nobody but my Master”.

I know not if the joys of my body or my utterances

were what drove him past the point of ecstasy,

but soon he orgasmed deep within me

and filled my channel with his seed.

“You have done well, she-slave” my Master praised me as he withdrew,

“and by noon tomorrow

you will face the final test of your training

in the amatory arts in which you so excel:

for your Collaring ceremony is to take place

as scheduled and, once completed,

great honors will be bestowed upon you.

I shall no longer defile you in bondage, but rather, untied;

free and willing you will submit to my ministrations,

and as a sign of your status, which you earned most rightfully,

you will forever wear your collar:

finally a true love slave of the Grand Nagus!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-An ancient name for the planet Vulcan.  
> 2-As Andorians have four sexes, the author seems to have deemed it necessary to specify which genitals were depicted in this case.  
> 3-Similar disparaging remarks about Andoria's climate are common in Vulcan literature, probably due to a combination of the Vulcans' affinity for hot desert weather and the troubled history of the two planets' relations.  
> 4-A Vulcan animal similar to a Terran snake.  
> 5-A meditative breathing exercise.


	6. Fragment 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The morning before her Collaring ceremony is due to take place, T'Lana is prepared and bathed by Gizera, a Ferengi woman who serves as a palace maid.)

I stepped into the bath, brimming with steaming water

obscured only by the perfumed soaps foaming on its surface.

I am used to sonic showers, but never before had I bathed in water

only once, when, as a child, I swam in the Voroth sea

– oh, to be back on the sharp cliffs of oT'Khasi! – 

But in Ferenginar, drenched in rain and covered in swamps,

water is plentiful, and thus not wasted on cleaning the body

of one who is nothing but a slave.

“There you go, miss” the Ferengi woman piped

as she averted her eyes from my form shyly.

Even for her race she was petite, curvaceous,

with skin the color of the standing rocks of Raal.

She was naked, like all Ferengi women are

at all times, and knelt beside the bath

as she tended to my needs, soaping my skin

before cleaning it with a soft damp cloth.

She gently, reverently, rubbed my shoulders with trembling hands

and the golden blush of her blood was plain on her cheeks

as she stroked my collarbone, not daring to descend

upon my full breasts, glistening wet in the soft light.

“I have no need for your assistance, ma'am”

I offered, “I will not attempt to flee

or to harm myself – my temperament has changed much

from when I first arrived to the Nagal residence,

proud and scared and seething with rage.

It is illogical for a free Ferengi like yourself

to spend her time caring for a mere slave;

and besides, it would appear you find the task

of washing me to be unpleasant,

for you touch me only with hesitation,

and avoid looking at my body.”

“I am hardly a free Ferengi” she chuckled bitterly,

“even though our laws do so state,

for I am but a female, barred from seeking profit

or opportunity, and thus acquire glittering latinum.

As for your body, miss, the opposite is true:

I believe you are beautiful, and though I desire nothing

but to take in your alluring shape, I aim to be respectful.

I have never known a foreign woman

to appear so comfortable when naked, and unashamed.”

I gave her words consideration before taking her hand in mine

and answering as I stared into her unreadable green eyes:

“Life is hard for all women in this far-flug world

of Ferenginar; I can but offer comfort to you, ma'am,

in this dire situation in which we both are locked,

and pray that one day this planet will see logic,

and this immutable fact: all sentient beings are equal,

and worthy of respect and kindness.”

“Thank you miss! I have never heard such gracious words

from the mouths of my own kind, for Ferengi men treat us callously,

and the women are quick to silence me in fear of being heard,

and finding themselves in trouble.

Oh! The man who owns you is lucky, miss,

you are not only beautiful, but intelligent and compassionate.

Oh, how I wish I were in his place!” she sighed,

and a contented smile broke across her face

as she surely imagined the delights of my company.

“We are alone in here, ma'am,

and the Nagus will not require me until the evening” I ventured coquettishly,

“nobody would find out, or blame you,

if you made good use of an idle slave like me.”

“Miss! It would not be right!” she replied in alarm.

“I suppose such affections are forbidden in Ferenginar”

I sighed, “but do you not find such a restriction illogical?

Infinite diversity in infinite combinations

is the rule of my race, and it serves us well;

for it is the lack of mastery over the emotion of love

that is dangerous, and not the nature of one's beloved;

in Vulcan, the families in such a combination are many indeed,

and even Surak, Father of Logic, shared such a bond with his beloved Senet ₁. ”

I paused and admired how the golden blush

that spread across her cheeks flattered her complexion

before asking, as a smile threatened to reach my lips:

“May I know your name, ma'am?”

“My name is Gizera” she squeaked shyly, and cowered

when I rose from the bath, precious water dripping

from my body like a distant desert mirage.

I stepped outside and carefully knelt before her,

lowering my forehead to the ground

in the deepest reverence a servant can offer:

“Lady Gizera, I am a slave to all the Ferengi,

and as such I am entirely at your disposition.

Perhaps I could be of aid to you,

and provide a satisfaction to your desires

that you might otherwise be unable to experience in wretched Ferenginar.”

In such a humble position I waited

until I felt her warm hand upon my shoulder.

“Is this truly comfortable for you, miss-

what is your name again?” she asked with a voice that betrayed her desire.

“My name is T'Lana, ma'am, your humble servant,

but you may address me in whatever way you choose.”

“T'Lana”, she repeated, “my gentle friend,

your name is as beautiful as your soul,

as beautiful as your delicious physique!”

She then placed her hand on my cheek, and tilted it,

so as to place a loving kiss upon my forehead.

Her actions soon veered from such chasteness, however,

as her hands wandered lower down my shoulders,

cupping my breasts appreciatively.

She would squeeze them softly, rub my skin,

and tore a sigh from my throat when she pinched my nipples.

Firmly she held them and rolled them between her fingers,

relentless and determined, the pressure amusing and delicious

– but ultimately unsatisfying, for it stirred my loins to fire,

a fire I feared Gizera might be too shy to quell.

“I am glad you enjoy this” she said, “for I have, on countless occasions,

pleasured myself in such a fashion, dreaming that it were the chest

of another, one as delightful as yourself, that I were satisfying.”

“My lady Gizera, sweetest among the Ferengi,

how selfless you are, compared to he who owns me!

Please allow me the honor of being the one to satisfy you,

for you appear inexperienced, and in need of learning

much of the agreeable joys of sensuality

and of the hidden pleasures your own body holds.”

With these words I stepped forward, and helped her

to recline upon the shining tiles of the floor.

I parted her legs, unveiling the exquisite secret between them:

her soft vulva, already damp with the promise

of my touch, quivering beneath her pubic mound;

her labia, timidly protruding from her slit,

the enticing bud of the clitoris

between the folds of her smooth sex.

I placed my hands on her thighs, and, without delay,

set out to taste the delectable feast spread before me.

My tongue darted out as I relished the taste of her lubrication

and soon lavished my attentions on her untouched genitals:

I wrapped my lips around the glistening pearl of her clitoris

and circled it with my tongue at an agonizing speed,

so that soon, my lady was gasping for air

and pleading for more – pleading to her willing slave,

when she could easily command me to satisfy her every desire.

My tongue continued dancing on her sex

until I dragged it down the length of her delicate labia

and located the entrance to the channel inside.

With eagerness I plunged into it – so tight it was,

so marvelous were her moans, now increasingly urgent,

that I believed I could achieve release if I continued for long enough.

My tongue was quickly replaced by a finger, then two,

as my slender hand obscenely filled her.

I observed the sight of her vulva parting for me,

slick and supple and welcoming,

as I pumped in and out before re-assuming my duties

and performing cunnilingus on amorous Gizera,

who cried out orgiastically, incessantly,

as her hands entwined on my hair:

“T'Lana! My dear T'Lana, how bold you are,

how skilled your caresses! Oh, if I could own property,

my first purchase would be you, and a profitable one also –

for no amount of shining latinum is worth more than you are!

Oh, you rare desert flower, sweet slave of mine,

you are bringing me closer and closer to ecstasy!”

“My lady Gizera, ma'am, please pardon my insolence,”

I ventured, withdrawing my lips and fingers

from her dainty genitals, now dripping wet,

“may I shift my position, so that I can continue

to stimulate you in the fashion which I believe to be most efficient?”

Her charming mouth was so occupied by enraptured moans

that she replied to my request but with a nod.

With a small bow to express my gratitude I rose,

and locked my left leg over her right;

and so, my sheath was rubbing against her slit,

so silky and luscious, so eager,

that with only the gentle pressure

of my mound against her protruding clitoris,

my lady was sighing in delight again,

wanton and thrilled by the pleasure I provided.

Yet my logic is never fully overcome with voluptuous joy,

for as a love slave, I am to retain my wit,

and not lose track of what is expected of me:

complete devotion, utter obedience,

and flawless performance for my master's benefit.

As I continued gyrating against her sex,

caressing mine in turn, two delicate cymbals in a lascivious song,

I leaned forward, my tall frame covering her,

my breasts swung before her face,

and she grunt quietly before burying herself

in the comfort of my bosom, tender beneath her hands.

That was, however, not the end of the pleasures

I had in store for her: I placed my hands on her ears

and started massaging them with vigor.

So excited was my delectable companion

that she was soon overcome with the passion of orgasm:

she gripped me close, and shuddered

as her expressive face contorted in a cry of ecstasy.

Many more times did I worship pretty Gizera

before I left the bathing room that afternoon,

prepared, at last, for the Collaring with the Nagus.

We parted with thoughtful words and the wish to see each other again,

perhaps even in a more favorable situation, or in a kinder world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- Even though the author is not the first to speculate that Surak's relationship with Senet was romantic in nature, unfortunately we do not have any concrete historical records to confirm whether that was the case.


	7. Fragment 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (T'Lana's collaring ceremony takes place after only a brief interlude after fragment 6, in which she is lead through the corridors of the Nagal residence towards the main dining hall, where she was first presented to Gnakor.)

I stepped, once again, into the dining hall of the Nagal palace

to find it nearly empty: two guards were placed at the entrance,

dressed in their glittering uniforms, holding ceremonial spears.

I bowed respectfully, noticing that I knew them both –

I had known them both carnally indeed,

for the Nagus had offered me to them in the past:

for one I had been a reward for a successfully executed mission,

the other was in the rec room on that day I was punished

by the delectable defilement of five Ferengi males.

Timidly they escorted me to the Grand Nagus Gnakor

who sat on this latinum throne at the end of the deserted chamber

admiring my proud naked body as I advanced towards him.

Seductively I walked, with my hips swaying,

coyly averting my gaze from him – for it was necessary

that he found me pleasing and place the collar on my neck.

Should he refuse, if he did not deem me worthy,

I was to be swiftly executed, without trial or reason:

for today I was finally a fully-trained love slave,

forever in the Nagus' grasp, the possibility of escape no longer viable.

And, if I proved myself incapable of fulfilling such a role,

I was of no use, and thus a waste of resources.

I finally reached the throne, and stood before Gnakor

as the guards took their place beside him.

I knelt deeply, forehead against the tiles

and rose, assuming the position I was taught:

knees apart, chest forward, arms parallel behind my back

and head turned to the side, gazing modestly at the floor;

a silent plea to be collared, which my Master could accept or refuse,

or disregard, and demand further proof of my readiness

before making his decision.

It was this third option that the Grand Nagus selected

when he spoke and commanded that I got closer:

for the Master would rise from his chair

to place the collar upon his slave's lovely neck,

or to walk past her and exit the room,

thus leaving her at the mercy of the guards' sharp spears;

only when the final decision on her fate had been reached,

and not before, would he rise.

Thus I obeyed, and crawled towards his throne

on my knees and hands; a naked, base animal,

helpless before her captor and hunter.

I stopped at his feet, and bowed once again.

“Footstool”, barked Gnakor,

a command that would baffle those untrained in the ways of the slaves

but not me, for it referred to another common position,

typified and taught to all those who have a Master.

Quickly I shifted to adopt it: on the floor, with my knees together

I bowed forward and placed my elbows down,

tucked in, with my head low, so that my back was straight,

a flat, more unassuming version of a tabletop pose.

The Nagus chuckled in approval, and placed his feet on me:

clad in his boots they were, and the heels dug in my flesh

as he rubbed them against my back and tapped my head in jest.

When he was done amusing himself, he stood still

to test my endurance – still I was also

and did not falter, did not question him or tremble

as his legs weighed on me and wore me down.

In such a position of discomfort, waiting without stimuli,

the mind easily slips into the illogical trap

of thinking that time itself appears to slow its advance

so that seconds seem like minutes, and minutes like hours.

The Nagus finally spoke, took his feet of my back

and tapped my side gently with his boot,

and ordered me to give him worship.

I turned to face him and bowed deeply once again,

reaching to caress his boots reverently.

I never raised from the bow, never touched above his ankle

and soon my lips joined my hands in silent devotion.

I would gaze up at him, adoringly,

with the alluring gestures I had long practiced:

lips parted, eyelashes fluttering as I lowered my gaze,

pretending he blinded me with his radiance, like the Eridani sun.

In this fashion I praised him silently, until

he used the tip of his staff to tilt my jaw up towards him

and asked me: “do you want to be collared, she-slave?”

Silently I nodded, lowering my gaze again.

“I can't hear you. Do you want to be collared, she-slave?”

he repeatedly, feigning impatience,

when in fact he was delighting in the obedience

that prevented me from speaking when not instructed.

“Yes, I do, Master” I replied quietly.

He withdrew the staff, and sat back, leaving his lap open,

and undid his trousers, revealing a throbbing erection.

Sharp teeth bare, he commanded me

to ride him, and surrender my sex to him at once.

Under the watchful gaze of the two guards

I rose, and straddled the Grand Nagus,

and quickly lowered myself on his member

taking it into my sheath, unprepared as I was.

Without the aid of lubrication or foreplay,

even this familiar phallus was difficult to insert,

burning inside my tightness with every inch.

Yet, in one swift movement I accepted it,

without hesitation, my silence only broken

when I reached the end, and sighed contentedly.

Gnakor stroked my thighs and I started to bounce

up and down, purely on the strength of my legs.

I tossed my head back so he could admire my bosom

in a more appealing position,

and began to perform for his satisfaction:

I pressed the back of my hand to my lips

in order to suppress my moans,

for I knew Gnakor was flattered

by how much pleasure his member always brought me,

and found the thought of me, a Vulcan,

vocalizing my delight against my will and philosophy

to be highly titillating.

Then my hand shifted, I bit softly on my fingertips,

and my index slipped inside my mouth.

I lapped it obscenely, with urgency,

imitating the movements of fellatio.

I withdrew it finally, letting my saliva drip

as my panting resumed, sultry and rhythmic,

matching every thrust of my hips onto his erection.

I pinched my nipples with wet fingertips

and moaned when the Nagus spanked my buttocks

with a dreadful smile on his alien features;

fully aware that I would do anything for my Master,

fully aware that he could do anything to me.

I pressed my breasts together, shook them for him,

pulled hard on my own flesh until I gasped and hissed.

Then I extended my hands tentatively towards his ears

and awaited the nod of his permission to touch them.

His grunts of pleasure turned to cries of delight

as I performed the act of oo-mox, which the Ferengi relish:

my fingertips ghosted over the large shells

before I pinched them lightly with my thumbs, and rubbed,

and massaged the alien features lewdly

as my body bounced on my Master's erection joyously,

my pert breasts swinging softly with every move.

The Nagus' gaze devoured what was left of my restraint,

so past the point of demureness I was,

that I sincerely enjoyed the lechery of his expression

and his ruthless abuse of my sheath.

A Vulcan cannot see into the mind of a Ferengi,

but it is not necessary to know they are at the cusp of their orgasm,

for it appears plainly written on their features.

So my Master grew closer to his release,

and I had practiced exactly the act that would bring him to completion.

I leaned forward, and placed a preliminary kiss on the shell of his outer ear,

and, close to him, located the exact ridge

which was crossed by his most sensitive nerve₁

and brushed it with my teeth lightly,

teasing and nipping as I breathed into his ear canal

to stimulate his most sensitive organ: the tympanum.

He who is my Master, delighted, reached his climax at once

under my now skilled ministrations, and spilled

his warm, slimy seed inside my sex, with a vigor previously unseen:

so pleased he was, so abundant his ejaculate

that it soon filled me up entirely, and overflowed from my sheath,

running down my thighs in thick rivulets.

Once he was spent, he pushed me to the floor,

ferocious and impassioned, and loomed over me,

relishing that last moment where he held my destiny in his hands.

He produced a collar from the pocket of his robes:

a heavy torque, a shining circle of Terran gold,

which he snapped shut around my neck, like a kla'tok₂.

He rubbed his thumb on my lips appreciatively

before turning, and leaving the hall without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-It is safe to assume T'Lana is performing an “auditory nerve nibble”, an actual technique of Ferengi oo-mox.
> 
> 2-The kla'tok was a type of slave collar in pre-Enlightment Vulcan which amplified the telepathic influence of the master over the wearer. They are now forbidden in Vulcan and no longer manufactured, and it is unlikely that the author has ever actually seen one beyond illustrations in history books.


End file.
